|He was my North, my South, my East and West,|
|My working week and my Sunday rest,|
|My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;|
|I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.|
|The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;|
|Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;|
|Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.|
|For nothing now can ever come to any good.|
"Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend.
Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read."